Sunshine and Cinnamon
by daughter-of-the-true-king
Summary: Darling Aravis: I've gotten into a bit of trouble...my esteemed husband is dead, and everybody who is anybody is saying I did it--or planned it...I should arrive within a few days of this letter...affectionately, Lasaraleen Tarkheena
1. A Letter and an Old Acquaintance

**Sunshine and Cinnamon**

Chapter 1:

A Letter and an Old Acquaintance

Aravis slowly laid down the letter, a frown creasing her forehead. She knew exactly what she wanted to do about it--she also knew what Aslan would have her do--and these two sides warred within her. There was no point in arguing with herself; eventually, her subconscious told her, she would need to give in to what Aslan wanted. This knowledge, however, did nothing to ease the fierceness of the mental battle taking place. Finally, she sighed in resignation.

Behind her, the door opened with protesting squeal. Aravis turned, selfish worry still marking her face. "Whatever caused that?" Cor asked, a serious question hiding under his playful tone. He smoothed the frown out of her lips with his thumb. Unwillingly, Aravis felt a smile grow as her husband dropped a kiss on her cheek.

She gestured to the letter. "Read it for yourself. Remember when we were separated in Tashbaan--so long ago, now--and that Tarkheena, Lasaraleen, helped me get to the Tombs?" The distaste was evident in Aravis' voice. "It's from her. She never seemed like the kind of person to get into this type of trouble, but...well--just read it," she finished shortly, getting up and busying herself with small nothings.

Cor, curiosity growing, took her seat at the desk and slowly went over the letter.

"_Darling Aravis: _

"_I've gotten into a bit of trouble--completely innocently, I assure you. You may--or may not--remember that when last we met, my esteemed husband was away on business. Well, he's dead, and now everybody who is anybody is saying that _I _did it--or planned it, anyway, because I wanted to be free to marry Daalik Tarkhaan. _

"_Honestly, darling, it's all so completely ridiculous. Daalik wasn't nearly as wealthy as my venerable husband, and I would _never _marry beneath me. He _is_ delicious when it comes to looks, but there's almost nothing behind his title; and, of course, I could never be poor of my own choice._

"_Anyway, just before my husband died, some business venture went all wrong--I don't know how or why, only that it somehow took away most of my money. My greatly esteemed Father refuses to help me because he's in some sort of political trouble and needs to stay on the Tisroc's (may he live forever) good side. He thinks that helping me--someone most people now consider a murderer--would make his position worse. _

"_Circumstances have gotten consistently worse and worse until I have even begun to fear for my life. Even the Tisroc (may he live forever) is beginning to act in a way that frightens me--always making the most dreadful hints. Isn't just wonderfully lucky, darling, that I remembered you? I know _you_ won't desert me, not when we've always been such dear friends! _

"_I couldn't safely stay in Calormen another night, so I used what money I had left to buy passage on a caravan heading to Anvard and send this letter ahead of me. I'm sure I shall not need to stay with you very long; all this horrible gossip will die down soon, surely, and then I can return home._

"_Well, I'm on my way, and should arrive within a few days of this letter. Remember, dearest, how I_ _helped you_ _when _you_ were lost and alone. _

"_affectionately, _

"_Lasaraleen Tarkheena"_

Cor absently let the paper fall, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. Sometime during the reading, Aravis had come back to stand behind him. "Well?" she questioned. "What do you think we should do?"

"Let her stay, of course," he answered, reaching up to capture her hand, "although it seems she won't be the most pleasant of guests."

"She's a stuck-up gossip lover who doesn't know how to stop talking," Aravis corrected sorrowfully, "and it seems we'll be stuck with her for quite a while. Unless," and suddenly her voice brightened, "we can convince her to continue on to Cair Paravel."

Cor laughed. "Oh, no you don't," he scolded teasingly. "We're going to be courteous hosts and let her know she'll be welcome here for as long as is necessary. It's what Aslan would want, you know."

"I know," Aravis said, scrunching up her face in displeasure. "Just don't expect me to be her 'dear friend'."

Their shared laughter could be heard several rooms away.

IO0O0O0I

Lasaraleen Tarkheena's fingers fumbled to tighten the knots holding down the canvas walls. Despite her efforts, the violent dust storm managed to make itself known within her wagon. She pressed a handkerchief over her nose and mouth, eyes gritty with the ever-present sand.

She was so cramped. The spoiled Tarkheena felt a longing for civilization as passionate as the storm itself rise up within her, and she cursed the day she had decided to flee north. Of course, the northern barbarians wouldn't know a thing about real civilization. She thought, with a martyr-like air, that she wouldn't ever be in a truly civilized place for years and years--at least, not until she returned to Tashbaan, which would be soon, she assured herself.

However, that was wishful thinking and she knew it. It was likely--no, almost certain--that she would never see her homeland again. In truth, the situation was worse than she'd let on in her letter to Aravis. She'd heard through the gossip of her servants that the Tisroc--may he live forever--was nearly ready to proclaim her death sentence.

It wasn't the least bit fair! She knew many women who flirted outrageously when their husbands were away--and some who didn't even bother to hide it.Besides, her husband had been so _old._ Surely she couldn't be expected to confine herself to just him? But doubt rose up like a taunting monster. All right, so maybe she should've been a little more prudent--but that didn't justify the horrible, horrible comments that even her dearest friends had been making, and _believing_.

Surely they knew, deep down somewhere, that she would never plan anyone's death--much less do the deed herself!

Just then, one of the knots came loose. The canvas flapped wildly, and dust-laden wind burst in, stinging her cheeks and hands. Eyes shut tight against the onslaught, she groped crazily for the cord, retying it on the frame. This done, she sat back on her haunches, panting with the effort.

Lasaraleen stared down at herself. Her hands were red and chapped by constant exposure to the elements. Her dress--once so lovely--was dark and muddy with sand and sweat. Sand coated her skin and was caked in her hair--her eyes stung with it.

"I--I'm so--_dirty_," she whispered brokenly.

And that was the last straw. The Tarkheena curled into a ball and wept.


	2. A Welcome for an Unwelcome Guest

Chapter 2:

A Welcome for an Unwelcome Guest

Lasaraleen stumbled out of the wagon, blinking at the bright sunlight. She'd been so long in the crowded wagon that her muscles rejoiced in the sudden release, despite the weakness invading every limb. Swaying on her feet, she looked around, unaware of just how pathetic a picture she painted.

Still, she did her best to straighten when she spotted the caravan master. Limping on feet that had fallen asleep, she hurried up to him. It was difficult to sound imperious when she looked like a street urchin, but she lifted her chin and did her best, smoothing away the hair clinging to her sweaty face. "Look, here, you," she commanded, "I paid to be taken to Anvard _castle_--not simply the city gates!"

The middle-aged man chuckled and patted her on the head. "Sorry, little girl. I made a vow to Tash that won't end yet for three weeks. Can't go into any barbarian city or I'll be unclean." He shrugged, looked her over pityingly, and walked away.

The Tarkheena stood stock-still, dumbfounded, her face reddening with rage. Never had she been treated in such an insulting manner. That son of a pig had actually touched her hair with his filthy hands--and pitied her! _Her_! A member of the Calormene nobility!

She winced. So maybe she wasn't exactly noble anymore, at least, not when it came to money; but she still had noble blood running through her veins--and he--his mother was likely no more than a lowly fisherman's wife. Her pride stung and she recoiled as though she'd been dealt a blow.

Slowly, Lasaraleen turned and faced the city gates. They were tall, elaborate and wide open--not at all what she'd expected. The two guards held their lances at ready, but exchanged friendly banter with the stream of people flowing in and out; and even some of the _women_ received a cheerful comment.

Beauty was everywhere she looked. The castle walls were crafted of smooth, gray stone, tangled over with green vines and colorful flowers; and the cobbled road was lined with rolling, green hills and farmhouses. The mountains towered above, casting a cool shadow over everything as the sun sank lower in the sky. Haltingly, she approached the city--shrinking into herself one minute with the shame of her appearance and stiffening proudly the next, as she reminded herself of who she was.

Finally she stood just in the shadow of the monstrous stone arch. Something within Lasaraleen hated to step into the city in her condition. She was a Tarkheena of Calormen! She should be riding in on a silken, pillowed litter, drowning in jewels and colorful silk scarves--not _walking_--dressed like a common peasant.

At last, she threw up her head and strode forward, angry at her hesitation. She had a right to do anything she wanted. Why ever was she hesitating over entering a northern, barbarian city? It wasn't as if she was afraid of it. No, no, of course not. Thrusting all thoughts from her frazzled mind, Lasaraleen hurried through the crowd of people, moving at a pace so quick that it could hardly be classified as walking. The nearer she drew to the castle, which towered above all other buildings, the more difficult it became to face it.

What if Aravis didn't recognize her? She certainly wasn't looking her best--far from it. What if the castle guards wouldn't even let her in? What if they didn't believe she was who she said she was? What if she never got in--what if--what if--

Lasaraleen squeezed her eyes shut in determination not to think about those things--and smacked full-force into something large and directly in her path. Fluttering like a startled bird, she reeled back, a stunned look etched across her face. Two large hands came up to her shoulders to steady her, and a kind smile beamed through a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Be careful there, my lady. I've found that it is often easier to determine where to step next when you keep your eyes open." Lasaraleen blinked helplessly up at him. What in the world was he talking about? Of course it was easier to see where you were going when your eyes were open--she wasn't stupid.

"Of course," she answered shortly. "I know that. Now, if you would excuse me, I have important business to attend to. Aravis Tarkheena is expecting me." The man's hands dropped from her shoulders as he stared at her in shock.

"Expecting--_you_?" His mouth opened and closed silently. Lasaraleen tossed her head proudly at his astonishment, thinking that Aravis must've found a truly high position in this barbarian country.

"Yes. Goodbye." The Tarkheena carefully side-stepped past the still dumbstruck man and resumed her fast-paced journey to Anvard castle, dismissing the incident from her mind.

I0O0O0I

"Yes, of course, your Highness; but we're fresh out of the lavender scent."

Aravis sighed and waved the maid out the door, doing her best to maintain a gracious smile. "Thank you for the report, Mariah, I will give it much attention." At the moment, nothing could be further from the truth.

Mariah curtsied and left, leaving Aravis to drop her head down on her desk with a groan. The day had been unaccountably busy; her brain felt stuffed with thousands of little problems that had been left for the princess to take care of.

As usual, Cor caught her just when she was feeling her worst. "What happened this time?" he asked, a laugh lurking under his sympathetic tone. Aravis raised her head, her smile genuine now.

"Oh, you know, just the usual. The head scullery maid got married and quit--causing a general uproar in the kitchen. The Countess of Trylon is due to arrive this afternoon for a few days' visit and Mariah informs me that we have no more lavender soap--seeing as the Countess will use no other scent, that could be unpleasant," Aravis didn't roll her eyes, but the possibility made itself clearly known in her voice. "Oh, and remind to tell Baron Bomsbey that his wife will not be here for their daughter's wedding."

Cor grimaced.

"I know," Aravis added bleakly, "I was nominated for that last task because, as the princess, it's to be hoped that he will not take out his anger on me. The last bearer of bad news had a vase thrown at her head."

For a moment, utter silence reigned. Then husband and wife shared a look before bursting into laughter. Smiling, Cor dropped a quick kiss on Aravis' upturned mouth. "Have I told you recently that I love you?" he asked.

"I can always hear it again--"

A loud knock interrupted them. The Prince stooped and whispered something low and sweet in her ear before turning to the door. Clearing his throat, he said, "Come in."

A manservant entered, bowing. "There's a woman here to see Princess Aravis," he said, his face and voice both rather hesitant. "She...says you're expecting her?" Aravis looked up at Cor, obviously confused.

"I don't remember scheduling..." Cor paused only a moment before turning back to the unwilling announcer and nodding for the lady's entrance.

The manservant was gone only a few moment when the door opened and a dirty, raggedly garbed woman walked in. Her appearance was completely at odds with her air of importance. She floated up to Aravis with the familiarity of a childhood friend. "I won't hug you, dearest, and muss that darling gown--but, oh! If you could just imagine what a traumatic experience I've just been through!"

The apparition shook her head mournfully, her thick braid swinging over her shoulder. She dramatically pressed a hand to her heart. "I simply must tell you everything, but--my word, what are _you _doing here?"

In Aravis' mind, the light had dawned at the first "darling." She'd discreetly mouthed the name "Lasaraleen" to Cor, who'd nodded conspiringly and winked. Now the princess found herself without words. "Umm...so good to see you, Lasaraleen. What is _who _doing here?"

"_Him,_" the Tarkheena pointed a finger directly at Cor. "I met him on my here--" At that very moment, Corin walked into the room, entirely unaware of the situation.

"Hey, Cor do you remember where I put that--" He paused, blue eyes widening as he took in Lasaraleen. "What are you doing_ here_?" he stuttered.

It seemed that Cor and Aravis had faded into the walls--at least, the Tarkheena and Prince Corin took no notice of them. Lasaraleen stiffened and lifted her chin. "I might ask you the same question--didn't I tell you that Aravis was expecting me? You, however--"

"I live here," interrupted Corin firmly, forgetting etiquette for what was not the first time in his life. For a moment, Lasaraleen was bereft of speech. Then, stung by the realization that she still looked like a street urchin, she turned abruptly to Aravis.

"I must have a bath and new clothes, darling, at once. After I've been refreshed--and perhaps slept some--I will tell you all. I swear this upon my husband's grave."

Aravis was sagging in her chair, eyes wide with confusion. She nodded helplessly toward a servant standing just outside the door, and Lasaraleen made a grand exit, sparing a final scornful glance for Prince Corin. The moment she was gone, Aravis turned to her husband, whose face was red with suppressed laughter.

Corin's voice had dropped to a stupefied whisper. "What--who--oh, bother everything." He turned and stomped out of the room.


	3. A Minor Mishap

Lasaraleen spun in a slow circle before the mirror. Eyes full of consternation, she found herself fighting to get accustomed to the odd texture of her new barbarian dress. As she examined every fold, the Tarkheena felt frustrated, not able to pinpoint exactly what about this garment bothered her.

It was quite becoming--of that she had no doubt. The creamy ivory contrasted nicely with her dark skin, and the tight, black bodice flowed down into a sweeping bell of a skirt. She experimented with another whirl and figured out exactly what was bothering her.

The sleeves. They stopped just below her elbow--and they were fitted. That would take more getting used to than anything else about this strange, new land. At home, women were ornaments to society. Their clothes were designed with beauty considered the only object. Sleeves were generally open and flowing--if they were part of the dress at all.

Lasaraleen rolled her shoulders in annoyance, her nose wrinkled in distaste. For a moment she considered cutting them off--but no. She needed to accustom herself to the strange ways of these Northern lands.

The Tarkheena took a final whirl before the mirror, her fashion conscious eyes scouring the dress for any defects. Not spotting any, she grudgingly accepted it and her examination moved from her clothes to the room itself. She still hadn't ceased to be amazed by the differences between her homeland and Archenland.

In Calormen, the wealthy usually coated their walls with seamless sheets of marble--here, the walls were blocks of stone, hung over with colorful tapestries. At home, there was no glass in the windows (the constant heat made it imperative to catch every breeze); here, not only did glass block the windows, but heavy drapes were drawn closed over them.

Lasaraleen felt as though she were suffocating in the stale air. Without thinking, she flew to the nearest window and pulled back the heavy curtains. In a moment, the harsh sunlight was glaring into her eyes, causing the torches to pale in comparison. She blinked rapidly, her fingers fumbling at the rusty latch., nails clicking against the glass. At last she succeeded in opening the window.

It swung out slowly, hinges squealing in an indignant protest. Cool morning air slipped into the room, seductively spreading the fresh scent of growing things. Lasaraleen leaned over the sill, relishing the breeze that whispered over her skin.

A knock sounded on her door, making her jump. She spun to face it, running her fingers frantically through her hair. Flying to the high-backed settee in an effort to look relaxed, the Tarkheena caught herself and whirled back toward the window. Her hands reached up to fling the drapes closed and in the next second she was sprawled across the couch.

"Come in," Lasaraleen drawled, fighting not to sound breathless after her mad dash.

Aravis immediately opened the door and walked in. "Well," she said, her voice as cheerful as she could manage, "you seem to have settled right in." She held back a relieved sigh when Las didn't instantly leap off the settee and smother her with an embrace.

However, the sight of another dark-skinned face seemed to put her guest even more at ease. Lasaraleen stood and sidled up to the princess. "You've got to tell me everything about your years here, Aravis. I can't believe you married a prince! Isn't that simply precious! I suppose you were right after all in running from Ahosta Tarkhaan. I will say that he was old--and the man you've got now is really delicious, darling. How does it happen that there's two of him?"

Aravis wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but sometime during this one-sided conversation she had ended up on the couch with Las beside her. Knowing Lasaraleen, she hadn't expected the girl to pause long enough for her query to be answered; but there she sat, eyes wide with anticipation and mouth momentarily shut.

"Cor--my husband--is a twin," Aravis explained, speaking slowly to prolong the silence. "His brother's name is Corin. Speaking of Corin, how does it happen that you met him before reaching the castle?"

The princess regretted the question the moment it was out of her mouth. No doubt she would receive more details about the circumstance than she had ever wanted. However, Lasaraleen was silent, seeming to experience a rare moment of thoughtfulness.

Sadly, this condition didn't outlast the moment.

Lasaraleen waved the inquiry aside. "Oh, _that_. That isn't the least bit interesting. Don't you want to hear about my journey, dearest?" and she was off, her tongue flying faster than the speed of light.

Aravis didn't get a word in edgewise for a very long time.

)0O(0)O0(

Lasaraleen walked, her eyes looking at both everything and nothing. Every sensation was so different; she struggled against going into shock. When she'd descended the palace steps, her first surprise had been the feel of soft grass under her shoes instead of sand, and now everything her gaze took in was so...very...strange.

A woman--obviously a member of the royal court, strolled some distance away. Every now and again one of the men would hail her from the fencing and archery grounds with a hearty wave and friendly smile. Las had been greeted thus herself several times, but the gesture was so new that she didn't respond, only walked faster as her feeling of displacement grew.

She trailed a hand along the castle wall, fascinated and slightly repulsed by the rough stone--it was so _barbaric_--just like everything else about this place. A sudden childish longing for the familiarity of Calormen overwhelmed her, tempting her to sulk over her frustrating situation.

Just before her, a fenced in pasture spread itself out; smooth and green and empty. Wanting to be alone for what might have been the first time in her life, Las nervously glanced both ways and slipped through the rails. She walked quickly through the tall grass, realizing that the walking the North required was something else to get used to. The Tarkheena went only a little farther before sitting down. Her legs, unaccustomed to much walking, relaxed and thanked her for the respite.

Las crossed her legs in the style of a Calormen story-teller, but at that angle the grasses tickled uncomfortably against her cheeks. With a gusty sigh, she fell back and stared up at the sky, wondering if it had always been such a deep blue--or maybe she'd never really looked.

Such nonsense! Of course the sky had always been blue--it was the sky--it didn't change ( she stifled a yawn), unless it was raining, or (it was so quiet here, she couldn't remember the last time she'd heard such quiet)... Her eyes slid closed.

Quite suddenly, a deafening horse scream blasted into Lasaraleen's ears, startling her out of sleep. Her eyes flashed open to the frightening sight of hooves, pounding the air above her. She rolled away, screaming, her heart racing, her breath nearly leaving her.

The creature came down on all fours with a _thump _that sent a shock wave through her shaking body. She couldn't still the wild galloping of her heart, or stop the endless scream that poured out her terror. The Tarkheena found herself thinking that her nerves would never recover.

Then she saw the animal's rider, and it was quickly very easy to stop her frightened scream. The prince was eying her with thinly veiled distaste as he dismounted. He approached her slowly, as though disliking what he knew gentlemanly behavior demanded of him. She clamped her mouth shut and scrambled to school her features, then found herself wondering why. If this strange barbarian prince thought badly of her, why should it matter? Las hurriedly swept her skirt into a hand and stood, angry with herself--with Prince Corin--with the horse--with the world at large.

Corin couldn't imagine what this flighty Tarkheena was doing in the horse pasture. She'd seemed to him like the type who would stay inside getting fancy with a needle, or weaving a tapestry, or something. She'd nearly gotten herself killed, the foolish woman! "You shouldn't be in here," he said. "Didn't you know this is the horse pasture? Laying down like that, you were almost invisible. Flight nearly trampled you--you would've died."

_My nerves will never, never recover, _Las thought desperately, trembling. Her eyes darted to the horse at the prince's side. Oh, it was so huge! If it had landed on her...oh...!

Corin was acknowledged by nearly all in Archenland to be one of the bravest daredevils in the North; but when the foreign woman crumpled at his feet as if she were--were _dead_, he merely stared down at her in consternation. Blast everything, what was a man supposed to do in a situation like this? A full minute passed with him doing nothing but staring down at the limp figure at his feet.

Finally, he scooped her up. With a quick glance in all directions (he was _not_ going to be caught--no one would ever let him live this down) he flung Lasaraleen over the saddle and mounted behind her.


	4. Lost in the North

The weapon sliced gracefully through the air. Prince Cor ducked, breathing heavily, and twisted his sword up behind his back to block. However, at just that moment, he caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of his eye. A figure, just within the woods--a few feet from the training grounds--was wildly waving for his attention.

Cor straightened. "Corin?" he asked, confused when his brother darted behind a tree.

The next moment found him laying on his back, blinking dazedly up at the sky. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his head and wincing. "Never, never lose your focus like that," his opponent said, gruffly offering his hand. The prince waved the help aside and stood, shaking his head slightly to clear away the stars.

"I'll remember that for next time," he replied, still trying to stop the ringing in his ears. He glanced toward the tree line and there was Corin, gesturing desperately. "Excuse me." Cor left the grounds and walked toward the woods, watching in slightly amused perplexity as his brother hid again.

Cor entered the woods, by now thoroughly curious. "Corin?" he asked, scanning the forest.

"Not so loud!" an urgent whisper commanded as his twin stepped into view.

Prince Cor crossed his arms and cocked his head. "What did you do this time?"

Corin seemed on the verge of wringing his hands. "Well, I--_I _didn't do anything--anything _wrong_, that is." He stopped and glanced at his brother, as if preparing to defend himself.

That man said nothing, only looked, waiting.

Finally Corin burst out with the story, jumbled and barely understandable. "Well--well, she fainted and I nearly killed her (or Flight, did, anyway) and I didn't know what to do and I wasn't going to take her back to the castle because I would never live it down and please, _please_ don't tell anyone," he sighed in profound relief when it was over.

The crown prince blinked. "B-back to the beginning," he stuttered. "Who did you say you killed?"

"I _didn't_ kill her," Corin huffed. "And even if I had, it would've been her fault, anyway, for being in the horse pasture at all." The wheels in Cor's head turned rapidly as he slowly pieced together what had happened.

"I think I'm beginning to understand the gist of the story," he answered, "but you still haven't told me what girl this is all about."

A sudden problem seemed to arise with Corin's sword belt, for he looked down and fiddled busily with it as he muttered, "the Tarkheena Lasaraleen."

"Lasaraleen!" Cor covered his eyes with his hand, pretending to commiserate, but really hiding a sudden streak of mirth.

His brother was silent.

Once Cor had himself under control, he looked up and said, "Where is she?" Corin sighed.

"I left her on Flight," he mumbled resignedly, turning and walking a little deeper into the trees. Cor hurriedly followed, not wanting to lose him. After only a few moments of crashing through the underbrush, they came out in a small clearing.

An empty clearing.

Corin stood stock-still and groaned. "She _was_ here!" he said defensively, whirling to face his brother, "and so was Flight. He was tied to this tree--" he laid a hand on a sturdy oak. A rope hung from one of its branches, the frayed end swinging idly in the breeze. The grass was littered with hoof-prints; several bushes across from them were smashed.

Cor shook his head and sighed.

)0O0OoO0O0(

Lasaraleen stirred, moaning. Her head throbbed uncomfortably, and she could tell by the sensation in her stomach that she was upside down. Her eyes blinked open and she screamed. The ground seemed to be miles away and she was dangling from the back of an enormous horse--slung over the saddle like a sack of potatoes!

Screaming was the wrong thing to do. It spooked the horse, who had been having a peaceful snack. That animal reared, eliciting more cries of panic from its burden as it spun around and began galloping for all it was worth. Las continued screaming, terror starting to send her back into a faint.

All the horse could do was try its best to get away from the shrieking thing close behind it. It sounded like a pack of rabid wildcats! The Tarkheena covered her face with her hands (still screeching) as branches and thorns struck and scratched her tender skin. The ride itself didn't last hardly more than two minutes, but they were the longest two minutes of Lasaraleen's life. She howled like a mad banshee, tears of fright streaking down her face and into the many cuts left there by the underbrush.

It came like a thunderbolt--quick, terrifying and accompanied by a flash of light. She barely had time to glimpse the thick branch before it whacked her off the horse's back. Stars whirled before Las' eyes and then all went black. Again.

)0O0OoO0O0(

"She looks like nobility." A vulgar voice with a foreign twang pulled Lasaraleen slowly out of oblivion.

"Ya' think so? Mayhap she's that Princess Aravis--looks Calormene, but dressed Northern-like."

"Oh, your a smart one, ya' are. Why, I'm a bettin' that's just zactly who she is!"

"The prince would be wantin' to get 'er back, I'm thinkin'." Two throaty chuckles were exchanged at this comment.

Las moaned softly and turned her head. She was rudely yanked into complete awareness of her surroundings when it came in contact with something hard. She sat bolt upright, for once too frightened to utter a sound. Dark, wide eyes darted back and forth between her two companions. Lasaraleen swallowed visibly as she realized that she was alone with these strangers in a tiny, dark cave--with no idea as to her whereabouts.

The poor girl was completely unprepared for what she saw. Two apparently full-grown men with coarse black hair and beards crouched across from her. Long stemmed pipes protruded from their mouths, emitting curling swirls of bluish smoke. Their beady, black eyes stared at her in mingled curiosity and sympathy, and she noted in horror that--standing up--these creatures hardly came up to her waist. The Tarkheena coughed away the strong smell of tobacco, closing her eyes to the fiends. So many tales about the inhabitants of the North had been spread in her homeland: demons in the shape of disfigured humans--beasts half-man and half-animal--an enormous Lion that could speak--she shuddered and hid her face in her hands.

With such a background, perhaps you will not blame her for what she did next. She leapt to her feet, mouth open in a scream, and whirled away from the black dwarves (for that is, of course, what they were). Heart racing in breath-stopping terror, she made a mad dash for the mouth of the cave, through which she could see only rain.

Despite their disadvantage in height, those dwarves would have stopped her instantly had they only realized her intent. But, as they were entirely unprepared for her escape attempt, they moved a moment too late. They reached the exit just as she left it, and the blinding rain made it impossible to know which way she had gone, or whether or not she had fallen off the side of the mountain.

They stared at each other in blatant astonishment. "Well, this is a pretty kettle o' fish," one said dryly. The other responded with a solemn nod and a thoughtful puff on his pipe.

"Methinks we should tell the Archenlanders 'bout this."

)0O0OoO0O0(

Lasaraleen stumbled unseeingly through the rain, a soaked and bedraggled bundle of fear, confusion and hopelessness. How she wished she had never left Calormen! She had been ten times a fool for thinking she would be safer in the North. Why, the Tisroc's prisons were kinder than these barbaric mountains and abominable rain! The poor girl scrambled blindly up the rocky mountainside on hands and knees, still ranting silently to herself. Her terror was beginning to fade in the light of her righteous indignation.

How dare Prince Corin let this happen to her! Everything would've been perfectly fine if he had only minded his own business. If he had, she would likely be sitting peaceably on her bed--a fire would be crackling merrily in her fireplace--she would be dressed warmly--her hair would still be damp and wet from a long bath... An odd choking feeling rose up in her throat. She complained so to herself for quite a while and was eventually convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that all the blame could be firmly placed on Corin's broad shoulders.

The next thing she knew was fingers slipping on the wet rock and--quite suddenly--she was sliding down the mountain, aware only of the disturbing way her stomach seemed to rise from its normal position and lodge itself in her throat. Her hands groped wildly about for something to grab onto and break her fall, but found nothing. This continued for what felt the like the longest period of the Tarkheena's life, but was likely less than five seconds.

Then it was over, as something furry and alive broke her fall and surrounded her with soft, wet warmth.


End file.
